A month had passed since I brought Arya back from death. A month since the world learned what I could do. A month of whispers, stares, and fear barely concealed behind polite faces.
I spent most of that time alone in the Godswood.
While my siblings trained with swords in the practice yard, I trained here—learning to master my powers here in Godswood.
Today, like most days, I sat cross-legged on the mossy ground near the black pool at the Godswood's center. Ghost lay beside me, his massive white form radiating warmth. He'd grown even larger this past month—nearly the size of a small horse now. His red eyes watched me with an intelligence that still unnerved the servants.
I reached out and placed my hand on his head, scratching behind his ear. "Ready, boy?"
He huffed softly, understanding.
I closed my eyes and let my consciousness drift. It was easier now, after weeks of practice. I felt the familiar pull, like slipping into warm water, and suddenly I was seeing through Ghost's eyes. Feeling through his body. His senses were sharper than mine—I could smell the damp earth, hear the flutter of birds in distant trees, feel the subtle vibrations of life all around us.
But maintaining the connection was still difficult. My consciousness would slip, pulled back to my own body like a rope stretched too tight.
That's why I'd started training in the lake.
Still warging into Ghost, I directed him to stand and walk toward the black pool. The water was cold and dark, fed by underground springs. Most people avoided it—they said it was sacred, touched by the Old Gods.
I made Ghost wade in until the water reached his chest, then deeper, until his paws no longer touched bottom and he had to swim. The cold water shocked through our shared senses, but I held on to the connection, forcing myself to stay present in Ghost's mind.
Then I directed him to dive.
The world went dark and silent as we plunged beneath the surface. No sounds except the muffled thunder of Ghost's heartbeat. No distractions. Just the cold, the dark, and the thin thread of consciousness connecting us.
This was where I practiced. Underwater, in the sensory deprivation of the deep pool, I could focus entirely on the link between Ghost and myself. I could feel it more clearly.
I held the connection for as long as Ghost's lungs would allow, then released him. He surfaced with a splash, paddling back to shore and shaking water from his fur.
I opened my eyes in my own body, gasping slightly. The connection broke cleanly this time—no jarring snap, no disorientation. Progress.
I could now warg into Ghost whenever I wanted, hold the connection for minutes at a time, and separate cleanly. It had taken a month of daily practice, but I'd finally mastered the basic skill.
Now it was time to try something harder.
---
I stood and walked to the weirwood tree at the center of the grove. The heart tree. The face carved into its trunk—solemn, ancient—seemed to watch me with those bleeding eyes.
I placed both hands on the trunk and reached out with my other power.
Immediately, I felt the tree's life force—vast, ancient, powerful.
I focused deeper, letting my awareness sink into the tree's structure. Past the bark, past the wood, down to core of weirwood.
And there it was.
A second circulatory system, made from unknown type of cells.
Just like animals had veins carrying blood, the weirwood had a network of channels carrying pure magical energy. I could feel it flowing through the tree like luminous sap. There were nodes throughout the trunk and branches, pulsing points where the energy concentrated before flowing onward.
It was beautiful. Elegant. A biological system designed to channel magic.
My heart raced. I finally knew how magic worked in living things—not as some external force, but as an integrated system, as natural as breathing.
If I could replicate this...
I looked down at the ground and spotted a black feather—probably from one of the ravens that nested in the upper branches. I picked it up, studying it carefully.
Then I walked to a nearby tree and broke off several small branches, still green and alive. I carried the biomass back to my spot by the pool and sat down, arranging the branches in a pile before me.
Ghost watched curiously as I placed my hands on the branches and closed my eyes.
I reached out with my power, and start reshaping it.
The branches began to shift and flow like clay, their structure breaking down and reforming. I pulled carbon, hydrogen, shaped proteins and cells with careful precision. I used the feather as a guide, copying the structure of DNA, normally it would be impossible to processing all the data, but some how I know it instinctively.
'Sigh~, broken logic of fantasy world.'
It took intense concentration. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I worked, guiding the transformation with my will.
Slowly, impossibly, a shape began to form in my hands.
Bones first—hollow and light. Then muscles, tendons, organs. A tiny heart. Lungs. A brain, small but perfectly structured. Black feathers sprouted from newly formed skin. A sharp beak took shape.
In just a few moments, a living raven sat in my hands.
It blinked at me with dark, intelligent eyes. Its chest rose and fell with breath. A heart beat inside its tiny body—a heart I had created from nothing but wood and will.
"Caw~"
The raven cawed softly, tilting its head.
But it wasn't enough. I wanted to see if I could give it the same magical system I'd seen in the weirwood.
First, I reached into the raven's nervous system and turned off all its pain receptors. I didn't want it to suffer during what came next.
Then I began the real work.
Using the weirwood as my template, I tried to create a secondary circulatory system inside the raven. I visualized magical channels running alongside its blood vessels, nodes of concentrated energy at key points in its body.
I poured my will into the bird, shaping, forming—
The raven began to shake violently. Its eyes rolled back, showing white. Its wings spasmed.
Then it went still. Dead.
I cursed under my breath. The life force I'd so carefully created had simply... stopped.
But I didn't give up. I placed my hands on the small corpse and reached out again, pouring life back into it, restarting its heart, rekindling the spark.
The raven gasped back to life, chest heaving.
I tried again. Different configuration of the nodes. Different flow pattern for the energy.
The raven died again.
I brought it back.
Again.
And again.
Days blurred together. I lost track of how many times I killed and revived that poor bird, each attempt teaching me something new about how magic and biology interacted. Ghost stayed by my side the entire time, a silent witness to my obsessive experimentation.
The servants brought me food that I barely touched. Arya came once, concerned, but I sent her away with a distracted wave.
Finally, on the fourth day, I understood my mistake.
Plants needed a separate magical circulatory system because they were stationary—the magic had to flow through specialized channels. But animals were different. Animals already had blood pumping through every part of their bodies.
The magic didn't need separate channels. It could flow through the blood itself.
I tried again, this time creating a single powerful node at the raven's heart—a magical core that would infuse energy directly into the bloodstream. From there, the blood would carry the magic throughout the entire body naturally.
This time, when I finished, the raven didn't shake or convulse. It simply sat in my hands, breathing normally.
But now I could sense a faint hum of power emanating from its small body.
I waited, watching carefully for any sign of distress.
The raven preened its feathers, looking perfectly healthy.
Relief flooded through me. I'd done it. I'd created a creature with an integrated magical system.
Now to test if it actually worked.
I reached out with my mind and slipped into the raven's consciousness. Warging into a bird was different from Ghost—lighter, faster, more fragile. I felt the air currents against my feathers, the powerful urge to take flight.
And I felt the magic. A warm pulse at the center of my—the raven's—chest, energy flowing through tiny veins with each heartbeat.
I focused on that energy, trying to direct it the way I directed my biokinesis. It resisted at first, slippery and unfamiliar. But I persisted, imagining the energy flowing into the raven's wings.
After a few moments of concentration, I felt mana inside body of raven moving.
I released the warg connection and pulled back into my own body, breathing hard.
The raven remained perched on my hand for a moment, then suddenly launched itself into the air.
It didn't just fly—it shot upward like an arrow, impossibly fast. It banked sharply between two trees, and I watched in amazement as it didn't dodge around a trunk but flew straight through a thin branch, punching a clean hole through the wood as if it were paper.
"What The… How?"
I find out that raven was using the magic instinctively. Strengthening its body, enhancing its movements. The magical node I'd created was working exactly as intended, and the bird's simple consciousness was using it naturally, without thinking—the same way it used its wings to fly, and probably most effective way to use magic.
'Maybe I can name it A-Train?' I can imaging it flying through raws of enemy army.
I stared at my own hands, excitement building in my chest.
If a raven could do it instinctively...
I closed my eyes and reached inward, trying to sense my own magical system. I knew I had something similar—it was how I used my biokinesis, how I warged. But could I use it the way the raven did? Could I strengthen my own body with raw magical energy?
I focused on my arm, trying to push power into my muscles the way I'd pushed it into the raven's wings.
Nothing happened.
I tried harder, straining, visualizing the energy flowing—
Still nothing.
Frustration burned in my chest. The raven could do it without thinking, but I couldn't seem to make it work in my own body. Maybe human consciousness was too complex, too self-aware. Maybe I was overthinking it.
I would need more time. More practice.
But before I could try again, I heard footsteps crunching on fallen leaves.
I opened my eyes to see Lord Eddard Stark walking into the clearing. His face was grave, more serious than I'd ever seen it. Ghost immediately stood and moved to my side, protective.
"Jon," Father said quietly. "We need to talk."
Something in his tone made my stomach clench. This wasn't about my experiments or my powers.
"What's happened, my lord?" I asked, standing.
Father's grey eyes met mine, heavy with burden. "Jon Arryn is dead."
The Hand of the King. Father's foster father and oldest friend. I'd never met the man, but I knew how much he meant to Father.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He nodded stiffly, then took a deep breath. "A raven came from King's Landing this morning. From King Robert himself, not through the usual channels." He paused, as if the next words were difficult to speak. "The king wants you to come to King's Landing. He wants you to... bring Jon Arryn back. Like you did with Arya."
The words hung in the air between us.
Bring him back.
"How long has he been dead?" I asked quietly.
"Six days," Father said. "They've kept the body in the Sept of Baelor, preserved as well as they can. But Jon..." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "The king is desperate. And when a king becomes desperate, dangerous things happen. We have to go. Both of us."
I looked down at Ghost, then at the raven now perched in a nearby tree.
Six days. A body dead for six days would be decomposing, breaking down. It would be harder than Arya—much harder.
But maybe not impossible.
"When do we leave?" I asked.
Father's expression showed grim approval at my lack of hesitation. "Tomorrow morning. We'll take ship from White Harbor—it's faster than riding, and more private. The king has... requested that we keep this quiet."
Of course. A boy who could raise the dead would cause panic, religious fervor, and a dozen other problems. Better to move quickly and quietly.
I nodded slowly. "I'll be ready."
Father looked like he wanted to say something else—perhaps warn me, or apologize for the burden being placed on my shoulders. But instead, he simply gripped my shoulder briefly, then turned and walked back toward the castle.
…